In his letter, Theo asked Mariana once again to reconsider her refusal to visit Zoe. He wrote insightfully about Zoe, with great empathy, before turning his attention to Mariana.
I can’t help but feel it might benefit you as much as her – and provide you with some kind of closure. I know it won’t be pleasant, but I think it might help. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through. Zoe is beginning to open up more – and I’m deeply disturbed by the secret world she shared with your late husband. I’m hearing things that are truly frightening. And I must say, Mariana, I think you’re extremely lucky to be alive.
Theo finished by saying this:
I know it’s not easy. But all I ask is that you consider, on some level, that she is a victim too.
That phrase made Mariana very angry. She tore up the letter, and threw it in the bin.
But that night, as she lay in bed and shut her eyes – a face appeared in her mind. Not the face of Sebastian, or her father’s face – but the face of a little girl.
A small, frightened girl of six.
Zoe’s face.
What happened to her? What had been done to that child? What did she endure – right under Mariana’s nose – in the shadows, in the wings, just behind the scenes?
Mariana had failed Zoe. She had failed to protect her – she had failed even to see – and she must take responsibility for that.
How had she been so blind? She needed to know. She had to understand. She had to confront it. She had to face it—
Or she would go mad.
Which is why, one snowy February morning, Mariana ended up making her way to North London, to Edgware hospital – and to the Grove. Theo was waiting for her in the reception. He greeted her warmly.
‘I never thought I’d see you here,’ he said. ‘Funny, the way things turn out.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’